Bad Vibes Read online

  The room returned to silence. I had been holding my breath and inhaled deeply to fill my lungs. The stiffness that had built in my shoulders unwound. A quick glance at the computer indicated the entity was gone.

  This job hadn’t been so bad after all. With some luck, I might be able to gather the equipment and return the car rental with time to spare and make the five o’clock flight out. Once again modern science proved that it had the solution to all mankind’s problems, those that were seen along with those unseen.

  I reached for the energy drink I placed on the table and downed a few more gulps. A burp arose and left me feeling refreshed.

  Something evil crept into the room just as I reached to turn off the computer. My gaze darted about expecting to find some vile apparition hiding in a corner ready to pounce. That had been my imagination running wildly. Nothing of the sort waited for my demise. What had entered though engulfed the room in a tide of sorrows.

  The tragedy mask stared back at me as if it were crying at the impending doom about to fall, and the comedy mask reveled in anticipation. Elvis grinned as if waiting to spring upon a victim caught in a trap. The delightful chubby cheek cherubs glared back with devilish expectations contorting their expressions.

  I rubbed my brow and looked back at the computer screen. A red blob now appeared in the kitchen.

  The Terminator showed three-quarters power available. There would be no chance I would make it out alive until I brought the entity to its end. I didn’t understand how this thing was able to survive the first encounter. It should have ceased to exist. It must still be about the house, hiding in a prized object of its host.

  One last chug of the energy drink left the can empty. I moved cautiously through the living room into the kitchen and came to a stop at the doorway. A table was to the right, a china cabinet with glass too dirty to make out the pattern on the dishes to the left. The sink was directly behind the table and had a row of cabinets above. On the adjacent wall next to the sink was the stove.

  A knife block was the only item on the counter. The sunlight shone through the window above the sink. It glistened off the rivets fastening the black wooden handle of a meat cleaver. Is this where you’re hiding?

  Another quick look around the room didn’t bring me any of the ominous feelings the living room had. There weren’t any pictures or objects there to judge me. I slowly stepped toward the sink and came to a stop as I reached the table. It was constructed of a cheap man-made surface and resembled wooden planks. It was probably the latest in modern decor of its day. One end of the table had a large blackish ring that I imagined outlined the perimeter of a platter. A trail of black from the ring spilled off the edge. I scratched the black, and it flaked off in small pieces. It was dried blood. Dooly had died in the chair that was right before me.

  Coldness washed down my back as the image of Dooley eviscerating himself forced its way into my mind. Dooley’s expression shown euphoric madness empowered him. His wide grin exposed both rows of his yellow, rotting teeth. I watched as the killer carefully wound his bowels around the platter in a pile. He gave a can of whipped cream can a couple of shakes and squirted a mound of it on top. A jar of maraschino cherries waited to be open to crown the whipped cream. When he finished the masterpiece, he jabbed the knife he had cut himself with into his liver. He waited patiently for the bodily poisons to circulate through his blood and usher in the final darkness. I saw the pile of intestines through the eyes of Dooley just before I snapped back to reality.

  I couldn’t think of a more horrible way to commit suicide. Still, even killing himself that way didn’t serve as penance for all the children he had murdered.

  I let out a gasp and steadied myself against a chair. Had I been possessed? Did Dooley’s entity seek to usurp my control as it did him? I didn’t think that was possible. My regiment had been protecting me from the darkness for nearly ten years. I needed to find the object the entity inhabited and destroy it before the tables turned on me.

  I moved quickly by the sink and pulled cutlery from the knife block. Some of the slots were empty to begin with. It totaled 3 steak knives, one butcher knife, one boning knife, and the meat cleaver. The boning knife most resembled the knife that Dooley had killed himself with. I surmised the meat cleaver was used to dismember the children in his horrific torture pleasures. There would be time to only test one.

  The Terminator met the blade of the meat cleaver and began the process.

  A wet chill pooled around my ankles.

  The device searched for the frequency.

  Thin unseen fingers rose from the floor and wound their way up to my knees and snaked their way over my thighs.

  The blinking lights of the Terminator turned solid.

  My bowels plunged into an unseen abyss and my sphincter muscle threatened to relax.

  The fingers crawled up my belly and tightened around my chest.

  The meat cleaver gave off a high pitched hum as the Terminator matched the entity’s frequency and increased in power. Again the air charged and my hair stood on end. I pleaded for the device to get its job over with.

  The fingers now circled around my throat but did not tighten. They continued over my face and cradled it tenderly.

  The process had taken longer than with the door knob. In fact, I couldn’t remember a time when it had taken this long to destroy a vibration. The power bar on the side of the device flickered near the bottom. If it ran out of power before the end, I was doomed.

  When the humming stopped my ears rang with the screams of a hundred suffering souls. The ethereal fingers that had wrapped around my body vanished. The sunlight entering the kitchen appeared to brighten. Incredible relief replaced the unseen grip that sought to possess me.

  I leaned against the sink and out of habit turned on the faucet’s cold water. Surprisingly, water spit out of the aerator and burped air until it flowed a steady stream. I let some run on my fingers and then held it to my nose. It smelled like ordinary water. I cupped my hands and let them fill, and then slowly washed away the impurities that had seeped from my skin through the ordeal. There was nothing to dry with save for the dusty curtains framing the window. I wiped my hands on my pants and dried as much of my face as I could on my shirt sleeves.

  I bent my head back and closed my eyes. It was over. It was finally over. My second wind invigorated me, and I planned to be back on the road again in just a few short minutes.

  When I opened my eyes I saw a bluish cloud form on the kitchen’s ceiling. At first I thought the house was on fire but smelled no smoke to conclude that.

  The cloud began to swirl and grew in size. A funnel of the bluish material dropped from the ceiling. On the tail of the funnel an apparition formed resembling a beehive. Faces of children pressed from the inside showing blank stares and silent mouths opening in protest.

  The air grew thick and damp. A layer of slime started to build on my skin. There would be no weapon of science I could pull from my arsenal to deal with a power such as this.

  “Hello, Lucas.”

  Did I imagine the words in my head or had the apparition spoken audibly? It didn’t matter. Reality is constructed so that only an observer has to witness it for it to exist.

  “You certainly are going to great lengths to rid this world of me. I don’t believe that I have caused you the grief to warrant such actions.”

  “I . . . let me leave, please.” My words were soft. My arrogance had melted in this thing’s presence.

  “That would not suit my needs. You have entered my lair uninvited. There will be a consequence to your actions.”

  My urge to flee was somehow exceeded by the apparition’s will for me to stay. I felt totally powerless and was afraid to incite its anger.

  “This isn’t a game of chess. You won’t be able to outmaneuver me. It is time to negotiate your fate. I warn you, I hold all the trump cards.”

  “What do you want?” It took all my willpower to utter those words.

  �
��I need to taste ambrosia once again. It has been such a long time. You can’t imagine how difficult it was for me to hold my touch from Jacobs. You more so. You are here where my vibration dwells. I will require you to feed me for a very, very long time. The suffering will be beyond your wildest dreams, or nightmares I should more accurately say. It shall be a wonderful ladder of experience. The raw succulence of the initial pain. The plateaus of anguish that will delight my voracious hunger. The misery of every one of your nerves crying for mercy. I can hardly wait to begin.”

  I was already suffering. Fear had my insides tied in knots. Part of my strength was being sucked out. This thing was feeding even now. “You said we could negotiate. Please—don’t hurt me.”

  “It’s simple. Bring others to take your place.”

  “I . . . can’t do that.”

  “Don’t take the moral high ground with me. I know different. I know what you are capable of, of what you have done in the past.”

  “I—”

  “Don’t attempt to hide the truth from me. I will end this negotiation quickly, and we can begin the festivities immediately. You know where I’m going with this.”

  “How could you know?”

  “I’m able know through the entity that resides inside you. You weren’t always at odds with it. There were a good many times you treated it quite well. You even derived pleasure from giving it what it desired. There were three woman and two young men.”

  I lowered my head in shame. “Yes.”

  “And a young boy that was soon to reach the age of three.”

  I winced and uttered an almost silent, “Yes.” I lifted my gaze. “It was wrong. I felt like it was wrong while I was doing it. The need . . . the need was strong. I had to use my head to war with my sordid lusts. My head won. Knowledge won. I was able to subdue my conjoined twin.”

  “And you have been keeping your companion in its place by taking drugs to dull its power. As penitence you have been traveling the world and destroying my kind before they are allowed a chance to make the next progression. You sought to do that with me today. I proved to be stronger.”

  “I had no idea something like you could exists. I would have never come, or at least have been better prepared.”

  “Are you ready to do my bidding?”

  I refused to answer.

  “Allow me to remind you how pleasing the feeding can be.”

  A warm, relaxed feeling sprang deep within me and flowed outward though my body. Echoes of the past, short snippets of moans, pleadings, cries, and whimpers reverberated in my head. The melodies of sufferings lulled me into the sensual pleasure of intoxicating, carnal delight.

  “Yes—yes you are feeling it now. Your craving is strong. It is always just below the surface waiting for a chance to take over. You need to let it! You need to let go and bathe in the ecstasy that only other’s pain can give!”

  My mind swirled uncontrollably, and I knew the tide was about to pull me to a place from which I would never return. I felt nauseated and fought to shake the feeling. I only had one last effort to save myself. “No!”

  “Yes! Give into it. Go forth and bring me others! I will share their miseries with you.”

  “No!” I powered up the Terminator and tossed it at the ceiling. I turned and ran to the back door, frantically twisted the knob, and ran out slamming the door closed.

  I was in the garage. A baby-blue 1960 AMC Rambler in showroom condition waited for a driver. The paint had a mirror finish and the whitewalls were so bright they looked like they had never seen blacktop. My only means of escape would be through the garage door.

  There was no way to know how soon the apparition would follow. I ran to the garage door and struggled to lift it. The locking mechanism wouldn’t budge. I redoubled my efforts and my face flushed red from the strain. With a cry of frustration I let go of the handle and took a deep breath. I didn’t see anything in the room to use as a pry bar.

  The door from the kitchen issued a series of cracks and pops. It started to buckle from the power coming after me. The only other sanctuary available was the car. Without further thought I lunged for the driver’s side door, opened it, and sat down. I locked the door and reached and pushed the other three door locks shut.

  The kitchen door splintered with the sound of a crashing tree and bluish smoke began to fill the garage.

  The key was in the ignition, a white rabbit’s foot hung from it on a chain. I turned the key and mashed the gas pedal multiple times. The engine turned over for what seemed like an eternity and fired to life. I slammed the transmission into ‘Drive’ and pushed the accelerator to the floor. The car crashed through the garage door.

  The Rambler bounced past my car and down the driveway. I slowed only enough to fishtail onto the road. The car sped down the middle of the two lanes as I watched the mighty oaks lining the street pass in a blur. The speedometer’s arrow broke past ninety and the roar from the engine rose and gave me relief that I was fast escaping the horror that sought to devour me.

  The stop sign warned that the highway intersected ahead, and I was thankfully near the neighborhood’s entrance. The brakes brought the car to a screeching halt. With no traffic to impede my advancement, a foot to the floor had the tires spinning and the car heading off as far and as fast as the antique vehicle would take me.

  *

  I had slowed to the 55 mph speed limit and managed to relax after the fifteen minutes of freedom put me miles away from the neighborhood. It was too bad I had to leave my equipment behind, but I would be damned if I was going back and get it. That thought brought a sense of irony, because I would literally be damned by that thing if I did.

  A flashing school sign returned me to the here and now and forced me to slow my flight even further. Up in the distance a crossing guard held up a red sign and herded a mass of children across the street. I brought the car to a stop some ten feet away.

  Whispering Oaks Middle School was to my right, and children eager to get home boarded a line of buses.

  The warmth of my hibernating companion awoke back in my mind. It had been years since I had felt its presence. A sudden urge overwhelmed me to mash the accelerator and run over the children as they crossed the street. My entity gained strength, no doubt, due to my previous encounter and my weakened physical and mental state.

  I gripped the steering wheel with all my might. “Go away! Not now. You’re not taking over again. You’re not!” I held my breath and mentally pleaded for the children to hurry along, and cursing that my medication was in the bag left behind.

  One group of children passed but another stepped up to follow.

  “Damn you I won’t do it. Damn you—go away.” The urge was great. My right leg began to shake as my companion sought to control my foot. “I’m stronger that you. I’ve beaten you before . . . I will beat you again.” I pulled the emergency brake and lifted my right leg over the transmission hump. My right foot now hung over the passenger seat floorboard. “Ha! I win!”

  The emergency brake popped free. The transmission shifted into drive. The accelerator met the floor. Squealing tires amidst a fog of burning rubber mingled with the screams of anguish from the children smashing in to steel and chewed up between asphalt and tires. It reminded me of cries from a flock of startled birds. One of the children flew up from the hood and crashed against the windshield. A smear of blood mixed with hair remained after the body slid off to the side.

  The car burst through the group and came to a screeching halt. It shifted to reverse and hit a fresh body or two and mashed those who struggled to flee and those who would never be able to flee again.

  The traffic monitor beat on my window with the stop sign. I was unable to overpower the force that controlled the vehicle. The car lurched forward again and headed toward the children standing on the sidewalk waiting for the bus.

  It had all become clear to me now. The car. The entity at the house had resided in the car. I had been tricked to bring the apparition into the w
orld and feed it the fear of the children.

  What a feast it had to enjoy.

  The crunching of bones breaking amongst the terror filled wails of anguish became a symphony that sent my inner spirit soaring. A twisted lust grew inside me for more. I heard the beaconing of my companion and its words brought decadent delight.

  The car came to a stop and the transmission shifted to park. Mashed and crumpled children lay all around. Some wandered aimlessly about in a daze. Others stood and cried while waiting for someone to lead them away. There were many gathered on the other side of the road staring in awe at the carnage, unable to comprehend such a horrific act.

  I wet my lips with my tongue, placed the transmission in drive, and sent the Rambler hurtling toward the children to harvest more of the sweet nectar of their sufferings to heighten my drunken stupor. My inner conflict was over at last with my darkness. I had become weary of a battle that sought the approval of society and succumbed to the enthralling waves of joy those others suffering brought. It was sure to hasten my death. A bliss I no longer feared.

  The End

  From Severed PRESS

  Alien microbes mutate with the DNA of the dead, reanimating corpses to life. A cop, Rico, and a junkie streetwalker, Angie, barely escape the onslaught of zombies. As they head for sanctuary, a jealous pimp seeks revenge, and Angie’s drug addiction, become a greater threat than the undead.

  From Severed PRESS

  INTRODUCTION BY JOE MCKINNEY

  “Scioneaux and Hatchell double-down on the horror and thrills in this gritty, action-packed zombie thriller. This one has real bite." – Jonathan Maberry, New York Times best-selling author of Rot & Ruin and Dead of night.

  "Scioneaux and Hatchell give you a fast-paced narrative full of oozing bodies and narrow escapes and poignant ruminations on the fragility of a man’s body and the resiliency of his character" – Joe Mckinney, Bram Stoker award winning author of Flesh Eaters and Inheritance.